To bleed for him is the true measure of love
by Grim Lupine
Summary: Harry and Draco don’t work as lovers in any normal sense of the word. They’re too volatile for that. //oneshot// //HarryDraco//


Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.

Notes: I haven't written Harry/Draco in so long, but the new HP movie was inspiring, to say the least. :D It's funny, because looking at my old H/D stories, they were all fluffy and horrendous. I get back into the pairing now, and I decide to write…porn. Surprise, surprise. :D

**WARNING: CONTAINS EXPLICIT MALE/MALE SEX. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE. **

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Harry and Draco don't work as lovers in any normal sense of the word; they're too volatile for that. They make their friends and anyone who sees them together uncomfortable with the simmering feelings that charge the air between them. In the face of the raw emotion that seeps from their every interaction, whether it be fury or lust (or that heady mixture of both that hooks itself under their skin), people find themselves a little captured, a little enthralled. A little frightened.

Harry and Draco don't have the comfortable marriage that Ron and Hermione live in; they don't fit that kind of relationship. But what they have works for them. Because Harry always thought that what he wanted in a lover was safety, but it's really someone who understands the darker parts of his soul. Draco grew up wanting an obedient wife, but can't imagine anything more stirring than Harry's snarling antagonism, the flashing green of his eyes. So that is how they live their days, their fighting laden with sexual fury, their sex as rough-edged as their fights.

Harry slams Draco up against the wall and braces an arm across his pale throat. Draco smirks, grey eyes hooded and taunting, and parts his sneering lips and says, "Really, Potter, such aggression is unbecoming in someone who consorts with a Malfoy." The condescension in his voice stings at Harry like an insect; he wants to bite that too-clever, sharp tongue until it bleeds. He wants to make Draco lose his ever-ready words.

"You didn't seem to mind my aggression last night, when I fucked you until you couldn't walk," Harry says coolly, and feels his cock twitch at the memory. From the way he can feel Draco's pulse pick up, it affects him as well. But Draco simply raises an eyebrow and says, "Never fear, Potter, I have become used to your uncouth nature. I was merely commenting on it in the vain hope that you might take steps to change it."

Harry presses hard on Draco's shoulders, restraining him against the wall, and spreads his legs apart with one of his own. Draco can't control some of his body's reactions, and the faint flush on his cheeks is telling. Harry smiles mockingly, pushes a thigh against Draco's hard length.

"Somehow I don't think that's what you want," he says, bringing a hand down to tighten bruisingly around Draco's wrists. "I think you want me just as 'uncouth' as I am now. I think you want me to push you down on our bed and fuck you while you're still sore from the way I used you last night." Draco snarls at him wordlessly, tries to tug away from Harry's grasp, and when he finds he can't, he leans in to bite Harry's mouth hard and press their bodies together. Harry smiles against Draco's parted lips; no one else could ever get Draco Malfoy to lose his icy composure. It's always been that way with them.

Harry Apparates them to the bedroom, and pushes Draco down on the bed with no preamble, straddling him and bringing his wrists above his head to bind them there. Draco swears at him, grey eyes snapping with arousal, and bites Harry's lower lip again when Harry grinds down against him. "Are you going to fuck me already?" Draco asks tauntingly. "If you can't deliver what you promised, you only need say so."

Harry bares his teeth in an approximation of a grin, strips all the clothes off them with a sweep of his wand. His blood runs like fire in his veins. This is when he feels most alive—hard and vicious with lust in their bed, or when he and Draco fight word-to-word, wand-to-wand. Most of those times he's thinking about being in their bed, anyway. Harry whispers a charm; liquid pools in his hand and he wraps it around his cock, stroking. He doesn't stretch Draco with his fingers, knows he's still fairly loose from the previous night, and the burn only makes it better.

Draco grits his teeth as Harry pushes into him, inch-by-inch. "Too much?" Harry asks, mock-solicitously, and laughs aloud when Draco tells him sweetly to go fuck himself. "Too busy fucking _your_ tight arse, love," he says, knife's-edge sharp with lust and tension, and thrusts the rest of the way in. Draco is tight and clenching, and so _hot_ inside. Harry pants out, breathless. He wants to laugh with dark joy or break something; his skin prickles with lightning. Draco shuts his eyes and strains his wrists against their invisible binding, mouth falling slack and open. The curve of his neck is pale and deceptively vulnerable. Harry leans down to bite it sharply and rolls his hips, and Draco groans, a quick, stifled sound.

"Bastard, bastard," he swears through clenched teeth, a litany of curses in time with Harry's increasingly erratic thrusts. Harry, through slitted eyes, watches need twist Draco's mouth into something wet and mobile, watches his muscles strain under pale skin. Draco's skin is milky pale, shows marks and bruises like they were made with a brand. Harry lifts Draco's hips a bit higher, thrusts into him that much harder, and Draco comes, still swearing at him breathlessly. His arse tightens around Harry like a vise, and Harry thrills all over with the sight of Draco Malfoy, debauched in their bed and the farthest thing possible from his composed, public persona. When Draco, chest heaving, glares at him and tightens his arse again around Harry's cock, Harry growls out and comes, biting Draco's collarbone viciously and hoping he draws blood.

Draco is quiet for a moment as Harry pants for breath, then he tells him, voice a little hoarse, "Move, Potter. Your Neanderthal frame is crushing me."

Harry rolls his eyes and pulls out of Draco, grabs his wand and undoes the binding on Draco's wrists, says (in an attempt at a snide tone that fails due to the satisfaction coursing through his veins), "Sorry, princess, I forgot how delicate you are." Draco sneers at him, then wrinkles his nose at the mess all over his belly. Harry rolls his eyes again, cleans them both up, and falls back on the bed.

It is only one of many dichotomies about them that they fight and fuck till they're bleeding, but when Harry pulls the covers up, Draco settles into his side like there's no question that's where he belongs. Harry tucks Draco's head under his chin, runs fingers over his collarbone. He did draw blood.

They fall asleep together, and maybe they have something no one else understands, but for them, it feels a lot like a twisted kind of love.

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